


Requiem

by Alethia



Series: Starting to Finish [8]
Category: CSI: Miami
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Closeted Character, Episode Tag, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-01-24
Updated: 2005-01-24
Packaged: 2018-01-11 16:37:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1175338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alethia/pseuds/Alethia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>People always said funerals were for those left behind. Funny how Speed’s didn’t do a damn thing for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Requiem

**Author's Note:**

> Post-ep for 3.01 "Lost Son." Originally posted on LJ [here](http://alethialia.livejournal.com/118389.html).

He’d thought about going to the track, thought about running and running on leaden legs until his lungs ached with it, so much that he couldn’t feel anything else. But that seemed so—normal. Something he did all the time. Crisis? Then he’d go running. Good deal.

Except…not.

This wasn’t normal, this wasn’t mundane, this wasn’t anything for which he should even have a ritual.

Speed was _dead_. Wasn’t coming back, ever, and what? Going to the track would make it all better? Everyday habits would serve just as well for _this_?

It was so ludicrous he almost laughed out loud. Perfectly in keeping with the fact that Eric was trudging through sand on this ridiculously clear day, in his nicest black suit, walking right by all the beach bunnies in their bikinis.

Speed would have appreciated the irony, at least.

There was sand in his most expensive black shoes. His mother would scold him if she knew. Hell, she probably _did_ know, with that preternatural insight thing she had going on. Or that could be guilt manifesting itself.

And it was so possible he was overthinking this.

Eric smiled wryly, hands in his pockets and watching the sand as it shifted under his once-shiny shoes. 

The beach was a good place. He rarely came to the beach; oh, he went to the docks, sure, but the beach was so very…typical in Miami. Didn’t appreciate what you had and all that. Bullshit. Beaches were festering pools of bacteria, what with all the people and their sweat and sunscreen and whatever the hell else they brought with them—or _did_ here—not to mention the shit people were dumping in the ocean these days.

No, the beach was just disgusting, especially to a scientist. And just for that it would be perfect.

Speed would so be with him on this one.

Eric laughed again, and looked up only when something flashed into his peripheral vision, couldn’t stop the resulting collision with someone tanned and blond and broad and so just went with the momentum, gave in to the inevitable and stumbled. Just barely caught himself.

“Hey, watch it, man!”

***

“Hey, watch it!”

“Sorry,” Eric replied to the other man’s back as he walked away. He had—no idea where he was. He knew where he should be going, but the logic of the building’s organization seemed to be escaping him at the moment. Honestly, who hid the freaking locker rooms in a crime lab? 

It didn’t help that he was pretty sure he looked like an idiot standing in the middle of the hall, bag slung over his shoulders, very surely looking lost.

Just great.

“Are you Eric?” He turned—and _stared_.

This had to be one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen—long blond hair, warm smile, killer body.

He should probably speak, then. “That’s me. And you are?”

She laughed. “Calleigh Duquesne, CSI. Nice to meet you. Horatio told us you’d be coming in today.”

Something beeped and a pager materialized out of nowhere that he could see. 

“Duty calls. Nice to meet you.”

And with that she was off, whirlwind of energy, blond hair swirling after her and Eric was again left standing the middle of the hallway. Staring. For a much better reason.

A slight breeze to his side. “She could kill you without a thought, you know.”

Dry as dry could be and Eric turned, came face to face with—some guy. Not Horatio so he must be...someone else. That whole not remembering names thing really wasn’t helping him out.

Only then did the comment hit him. “That supposed to be a bad thing?” he asked, incredulous.

Eric got the definite sense of amusement, though there was no change to his expression, before the guy turned to look at where Calleigh had been going.

“Speed.”

Um, what? “What?”

Definite amusement now, faintest of smirks before he turned back, directing his words to Eric this time. “My name. Speed.”

“Delko.”

“I know.” And with that the guy kind of wandered away, in the same direction as Calleigh—and boy was he gonna remember _her_ name—before stilling purposefully and turning to look back.

“Locker room’s that way.” A nod of the head down the hall somewhere and he was gone, leaving Eric in the middle of the hallway. Still.

At least it was a nice hallway. And now he had a general direction.

***

Eric sat heavily, blond kid all but forgotten, just staggered away and plopped down wherever when that memory hit him with physical force. God, he hadn’t thought of that day in years, his very first with the crime lab. Getting lost, meeting Calleigh, then Speed…an eternity and no time at all had passed since then.

And what a cliché _that_ was.

He tuned back in to his surroundings, ignoring the children at play behind him, sounds of people laughing and having a good time. Zeroed in on the ocean, watching the waves lap carelessly at the shore. He breathed in.

***

He breathed in that telltale salt-brine of the ocean, grinning at being back out. That was one great thing about working at the Miami Crime Lab—he did get to use his skills.

“What’s so funny?”

Eric turned his grin on Speed, laughing at annoyed hands in pockets, pretending he didn’t like it. Eric knew better. “Don’t you smell that? Smell of freedom, man.”

“It’s not really freedom if you have to get away to find it.”

Eric shook his head mournfully, but smiled nonetheless. “I’ve always wondered, does it take a lot of energy being that cynical?”

Speed looked at him dismissively. “Not a lot.”

“Well, good. Wouldn’t want you to overexert yourself.” 

“Good to know you’ve got my best interests at heart.”

“Always. I’m always lookin’ out for you, man.”

“Yeah, remind me to put in some extra hours at the shooting range.” Eric laughed and danced away from Speed, easily heading toward the ship and Speed had no choice but to follow. Relaxed by him minutely once they were both settled, and Eric cast a sly look over at him.

“Shut up.”

“Didn’t say a word,” he said innocently. Speed liked it; he could tell. Maybe he could convince him to go diving with him sometime.

He snorted at the thought. Yeah, that would happen.

***

It was getting later; the tide was coming up and Eric really couldn’t find the energy to care about shoes anymore. They were so amazingly no longer within his range of caring.

And he probably looked ridiculous again—theme of his life, really—hunched over his knees, wearing a black suit in this heat, watching impassively as the waves lapped at his shoes, rose further as he waited.

For what—he had no idea. For something to sink in, for some kind of purpose to reanimate him, for Speed to come walking up, protesting what a farce it had all been, witness protection, some kind of nonsense that would make it all okay.

Stupid. It was so stupid to think that way and if nothing else, the _look_ on Tyler’s face, the ghastly pallor and sense of him not being _there_ would have convinced him well enough.

Even that brought a wave of bitterness Eric really couldn’t handle. Shouldn’t have surprised him; Speed wasn’t exactly the forthcoming type. But he knew just from Calleigh’s expression…she’d known. _She’d_ known and hadn’t told him. H had known. 

And _that_ was a farce. Some people casting sympathetic looks toward Tyler and confusing the hell out of the rest of them. It was probably a good thing Eric was an investigator. You know, considering he was so very skilled at adding two and two and coming up with the answer. It was far preferable to just being confused for months, annoyed that his best friend had just decided to drop him for no reason at all.

But oh, wait.

He laughed this time, bitter and dark and the water was cold but it didn’t make a difference anyway; he was colder than the water, no doubt. The sun was setting—another brilliant Miami sunset—and it glittered off the waves, fire dancing off its opposite, making his eyes burn. Eric let his hands clench into wet sand, feeling it squish between his fingers.

***

The mud squished between his fingers. And, of course, his gloves did nothing to reassure him, protect him from the feeling of raking through mud. He knew they were there, not that he could see them, but his brain refused to believe it. It was slimy and cold and squished and he might as well not be wearing them at all. 

Okay, maybe he was frustrated they still had nothing. They’d been here going on eight hours and just—nothing. 

“We’re never gonna find anything in this crap.” Echoing his thoughts and Eric looked up, grinned at the ornery look on Speed’s face. Couldn’t help the teasing, at least _that_ made him feel better about the whole thing.

“Tsk. What would Megan say?” He never was one to give up on a chance to annoy Speed. 

Speed looked around in disgust. “ _I’m_ saying we’re wasting our time and we should be looking at the house and not the middle of nowhere.”

Eric’s hand hit something hard and he laughed under his breath, grabbing hold and tugging hard. Life was so very good to him sometimes.

He tugged again and the object came out of the mud with a wet, somewhat pornographic sucking sound. Eric held it out so Speed could see, smirk twisting at the edges of his lips. “Oh ye of little faith. Looks like a seven-iron to me.”

Speed glared and stomped over, a little hard to do in four feet of mud but he somehow managed. Heh. He so didn’t realize Eric had become impervious to his displays of displeasure. “Your luck couldn’t have manifested eight hours ago?”

“All skill, baby.”

“Your skills could use some work.”

Eric grinned, relishing the moment, letting the idea form. He grinned wider and easily brought a hand over to Speed, wiping mud from cheek to chin. Speed just stared at him, didn’t even move away, looking like he didn’t quite believe it.

A beat.

“Yeah, that was mature.”

Eric snickered and added some more, evened it out, and this time Speed did step back, glaring again. “But you look so good in brown,” Eric protested, full-on laughing now at the long-suffering, ‘why me?’ look Speed was sporting.

With a huff and something muttered about ‘impossible children’ Speed trudged away, shaking his head and ineffectually wiping at his face.

Calleigh was gonna love this one.

***

So very many memories of Speed, connected to Speed, about Speed. He’d worked with or saw him practically every day for _years_. And that was never gonna happen again. He’d never be able to joke around with him again, never be able to tell Calleigh about how Speed had reacted, never be able to—

It—it didn’t seem possible. It definitely didn’t seem fair.

Feet squishing into wet sand pulled his attention away and he looked over to see a nice pair of feet sinking in beside him. Familiar feet. He looked up. Calleigh. There.

Eric laughed. He laughed at the shoes in her hand and her rolled-up pants; he laughed at the sand now clinging to perfectly-painted toenails and the absurdity that she would find him. Here. 

She just said nothing, water sliding over her bare feet every so often, squatting next to him and looking out to sea.

“What, you following me now? Funny considering you wouldn’t even talk to me the past couple days.” Biting and he usually wasn’t so. It’d stung, though, more for the fact that it was exactly what she _would_ do, showed him exactly how little progress he’d made.

“I put a trace on your cell phone,” she said blandly, turning to look at him, _knowing_ shining soft-harsh in her eyes.

“Right.” Totally implausible and avoiding the second question neatly. Typical Calleigh. Kidding, no less. Probably.

Maybe.

People were packing up and leaving, he could hear it now, voices dying out and fading away. And Calleigh just sat there.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Asked, no, demanded and she still had that same mild look, like she hadn’t just come from a funeral of one of her closest friends where she’d had too dry eyes and too calm a façade.

At least Eric knew enough to realize it _was_ a façade.

“You never asked,” she pointed out, with what? Was that levity? _Now_? God, but she could be a cold bitch sometimes.

Something must have showed in his face, not that was making any kind of effort to hold anything back at this point, and her eyes narrowed in a way that probably would have scared him silent a month ago. Three days ago.

“Blaming me, Eric?”

“You could have said _something_. All those times I mentioned how Speed kept blowing me off and you, what? Looked on in knowing amusement.” Mocking her with that last was probably not the best plan…but it was all he had.

“All those times you teased Speed about his mystery _girl_ and you’re surprised he didn’t tell you? Guess what, Mr. Big-Time Investigator, he didn’t tell me a thing.”

Eric winced and tore his gaze away. Because, dammit, she had a point. And he really didn’t want to think too deeply on that and what it said about him. 

He quieted and she didn’t go any further, hardly needed to. She just stayed still and swirled a finger through the sand, watching as it was inevitably washed away when the water extended its reach yet again.

Her legs must be getting tired, an absurd thought, but it was the one that floated to the top. Because it was important to focus on the inanities.

Well. Nothing else to do, then.

It was the work of but a breath to shift, crossing his legs Indian-style and tipping her into his lap. And he’d surprised Calleigh with that one, felt her resist, but her center was off so she didn’t have a choice in the end, kind of sprawling backwards into his lap, as graceless as he ever saw her.

And now he had a lapful of Calleigh, one hand in the sand for balance, one hand clutching shoes to her stomach, and looking at him like he’d lost his mind.

Couldn’t discount the possibility.

“Eric,” she huffed, and she was sitting up and turning, ready to move, but he had an arm around her waist and before he knew it he had turned her toward the ocean, sitting more comfortably, that arm still around her and holding her in place. Not that she was struggling. Not really.

And, yes, there was a point at which sheer size and strength became some serious advantages.

When Calleigh leaned her head back and slumped against him, then he knew he had her. The hand on his arm, just resting, clinched the matter.

Yeah, this was what he’d wanted. Calleigh unresisting in his arms and reminding him that there was still purpose or goals or—something. Something that wasn’t red and broken and ringing with the sound of gunshots and sirens.

Something like life. Or an approximation of it.

“I miss him,” he said softly, into her ear, and this was so much easier when she wasn’t looking at him. 

She didn’t say anything at all and if not for the catch in her breathing, he’d think she hadn’t heard. Eric squeezed his arm around her anyway, and the pressure of her hand there intensified, stupidly making him feel better.

Funny that this was the most contact she’d allowed in days. Hell, in that dim part of his mind still using things like reason and logic, he was shocked she hadn’t hauled off and punched him immediately. It was way more of a risk than he normally would have taken, but he wasn’t being very cautious today.

Actually, no, she hadn’t totally pulled away. His mind unwillingly flashed to the funeral and the casual bump of an elbow against his, something honest and meaningful in a staged, plastic display. 

And he knew he shouldn’t think that of Speed’s last farewell, but even with all the pomp, he couldn’t help but think the man had deserved something more, something different, something _real_. 

People always said funerals were for those left behind. Funny how Speed’s didn’t do a damn thing for him.

Ungenerous thoughts, all of them. But then, where would generosity come from?

Calleigh had arranged herself and finally settled, legs crossed, shoes in her lap, seemingly more comfortable if she didn’t have to look at him either.

They were a pair, the two of them.

At least the water couldn’t reach her, even if Eric could feel the wet sand from her feet seeping into his pant legs.

“Did you like the funeral?” he asked, and apparently his brain wasn’t checking in with him today. Granted, he should be used to this with Calleigh by now. It happened often enough, though for very _different_ reasons.

“I don’t like funerals.” Short, accompanied by an elegant shrug, and Eric nodded. Groups of emotional people all in one place, no, Calleigh probably hated funerals. He couldn’t find it in himself to disagree.

And Speed’s had been what some would consider a _spectacular_ funeral. It was full of tradition and weight, hell, a lot of the force had come out. More people than Speed probably knew, and who knows why they’d been there, to show support for a fellow officer killed in the line, to show support for the CSIs, because their friends were going…who really knew?

But there had been others, as well. The detectives they worked with all the time, honest sadness in their eyes. Some family members of victims whose cases Speed had worked on, and that really had shocked Eric. Speed had never been known for his bedside manner, so to speak. Hell, even Bernstein had flown in, and there had been a weird moment there between him and Tyler, but still.

Spectacular. Except for the fact that it really wasn’t.

He laughed, almost painful to hear, but stopped when it turned into something more like a choked sob. He wanted so much, and all of it so useless.

He wanted his breath to stop hitching painfully somewhere in his chest, he wanted to take Calleigh home with him and make this real, he wanted an end to uncertainty, he wanted Tyler to have someone to go home with, he wanted Speed _back_ , he wanted them to give him a fucking _chance_ to prove them wrong, he wanted—

—he wanted.

Forehead pressed to Calleigh’s shoulder, teeth gritted, and _trying_ to smell the sea mixed with her perfume. Instead surrounded by grass and the pungent tang of turned earth, age. Gunpowder and the bitter burn of the unfairness of it all.

She was perfectly still in his arms, allowing him his little breakdown but not responding, her hand gripping onto him almost painfully the only thing that gave her away. Such a perfect mask betrayed by so small a thing. In a way it made Eric feel better; at least it wasn’t just him.

Even if Calleigh never did seem to fall apart.

The tide really was coming in now and if they stayed much longer Calleigh would be getting wet. She shifted against him again, seeming to indicate the same thing, and he squeezed her before finally letting go. 

Funny how things he wanted changed so dramatically. A week ago the specter of Calleigh sitting in his lap would have sent him into paroxysms of joy. Now that he’d had it? He’d so give it back, promptly and happily, if only the intervening events could be changed.

Calleigh picked herself up carefully, still cradling her shoes, and he followed suit, wiping away sand as best he could, shivering now that she was gone and he realized he was very much soaked through.

Good thing he was wearing black…and it was such a stupid thought he had to laugh again. He probably needed to stop that, though, because Calleigh really was starting to look at him funny.

He just shook his head at her, and smiled again, this time meaning it. “Thanks for coming to find me.”

“It wouldn’t do to have errant CSIs sitting in the ocean all night, coming down with something and giving all the rest of us more work.” Yeah, especially since they were now short-handed.

He tried not to wince at the thought and took her up on her offer of lightness. “Oh so it’s all about you, huh?”

“Of course.” And how she always knew…well, it was part of what made it all worth it.

“You heading home?” he asked, more to cover the resulting silence than anything. 

She nodded, now carefully not looking at him. “It’s late. And we have work.”

***

“It’s late. We have work in the morning,” Speed said, clearly annoyed with Eric.

Eric squinted in the low light, trying to figure out what the hell this was. Because, again, Speed was leaving for no apparent reason and wouldn’t answer his questions.

“What’s up with you, man? You’ve been acting—” His elegant hand gesture at that probably didn’t shed any light, but the music was distracting him and his buzz made things a little hazy. And this _really_ wasn’t the place to have this conversation, women laughing and swirling around them, club scene in Miami in full swing.

Not that he was gonna give up an opening when Speed gave him one.

“What?”

“Off,” he finally finished and it was true. Speed had been.

“Yeah, well maybe this isn’t for me anymore.”

“What, fun?” Deliberately goading and Eric knew it, but he was starting to get frustrated. Hell, he was beyond frustrated, buzz fading slowly into a cold lump in his stomach that told him this was bigger than Speed becoming a flake.

“Yeah, Delko, that’s it.”

“Well then _what_?” Speed looked—he didn’t know what it was. Like he wanted to say something, but couldn’t make himself. “What?” he asked again, lower, intently serious and hoping it’d force whatever it was out of the man.

Speed just shook his head and looked away, firming his jaw. Decision apparently made, he looked back blankly. “See you, Delko.”

And with that he was gone, sliding easily through groups dancing, skirting the tables and disappearing in the direction of the door.

Eric sighed and ran a hand through his hair, and now he had a headache _and_ he was alone. Great. He easily brushed off the next hand on his arm, irritated with everything and everyone.

Speed was keeping something from him and it was so obvious. He sighed and moved toward the doors himself.

What kind of friend didn’t know what it was? If it was something so big and so important, important enough to inspire the chasm that had opened up between the two of them, shouldn’t he have seen it? Shouldn’t he already know?

What kind of man _didn’t_ know what was eating at those closest to him?

He didn’t even think while driving, on auto-pilot, mind back processing that look on Speed’s face. So very—hesitant, like it really could have gone either way and that so wasn’t anything like Speed.

The laughter escaped without conscious thought, at the sight before him when he came back to himself. The Church, probably the only one open now, and damn but old habits were hard to break. 

He shook his head at himself wryly and made a snap decision, locking the car and seeking out a place where maybe he could find some kind of true meaning, if only for a while. Long rows of wooden pews stretched before him, smell of wood and incense, with candles lit, even at this hour.

No rest for the faithful.

Eric sat. And waited for comfort to find him.

***

Fin. Feedback is adored.


End file.
